


We'll Fix This

by CrimsonBitch



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: 2000s, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Depression, Drug Use, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, Stanley Uris Has OCD, Underage Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:34:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22396405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrimsonBitch/pseuds/CrimsonBitch
Summary: Stan is fine most of the time, but every once in a while he isn't. For the days he can't get out of bed, he has Bill.Aka. I thought of this while shaving my legs in the shower at 1:30 am and wrote it immediately after.
Relationships: Bill Denbrough/Stanley Uris, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Kudos: 70





	We'll Fix This

To be totally honest, Stan didn’t know much about the feeling, but he knew that it was ridiculous to fear it. 

Stan saw fear Bev’s eyes when the group disbanded late at night and she started her walk home. He saw fear in the way Eddie stiffened up when his phone sounded a special alarm Sonia set in it herself, to make sure he never missed her texts. He knew Richie would quiet down a little in fear every time they pass by that alley where the two gay guys got jumped a few years back. Bill’s breath hitched whenever he caught a glimpse of Georgie’s closed bedroom door, bringing him back to a time of silence and funeral successions and desperation. 

Seeing all this, Stan knew it was silly to fear feeling down. However he couldn’t help his hands twitching whenever he thought about the days where he locked himself in his room, feeling so endlessly and despairingly blue, scared to do so much as to face the world on the other side of the door. 

You see most days it was fine. Stan was talented in necessary compartmentalization. 

Nine days out of ten, he was totally fine. He could talk to his friends and follow through with plans. He could listen to Mike prattle on about the cute girl in his math class, and he could swat Richie’s hand away playfully when he tugged at Stan’s curls (a habit he never really broke). 

Most days he could ignore the constant itch resting just below his skin, that would require release in the form of washing his hands again because he touched his phone and ohgodsomanygerms, or maybe in the need to go back home to make sure his mother locked the door on her way out, even if he would definitely be late to school. Some days he had to make himself throw up until the feeling of disgust was thoroughly vanquished. He would say he was more than okay on those nine days.

That one day, however, was all it took to break him. Once in a while, it all became too much. Socialization felt like a charade as he retreated further back into the shell he calls a head. A black cloud followed him around all day, sapping his energy and leaving him feeling dizzy and shaky and so fucking exhausted. 

He found little motivation to do anything other than sit in his room and chain smoke cigarettes he stole from the pharmacy. In order to stave off the constant barrage of thoughts of what he should be doing, he would put a CD in the player and spark up a bowl to the sorrowful melodies of any shitty punk band cd he was able to nick out of Richie’s car without his notice. His friends didn’t really know he smoked weed, him having cited a bad experience once. He wasn’t really lying. All his experiences with weed were bad experiences and he wanted to keep them that way. 

He didn’t want to subject his friends to this version of himself, so he typically powered through it, and would simply get home and lie on his bedroom floor until the sun went down and his mother’s headlights shone through the window. 

If he woke up knowing he wasn’t going to be able to drag himself to the bus, he would send off a quick text about some stomach bug or head cold and bury himself under the sheets, his mother barely even looking at him as she fed him tylenol and places a bucket next to his bed as she rushes off to work. He didn’t even have to take any measures to seem ill. 

All in all, Stan is proud of his ability to be fine as much as he is, especially considering how hard it is to fool anyone as perceptive as his friends. 

\------------------------- 

His only thought as he drudged from the bus to the school doors on this rainy Thursday morning is that he should’ve stayed home. He had thought the same thing this morning, but it would’ve been his third absence in a row, and that raises actual concern (or atleast disciplinary measures). 

His friends grew quiet as he approached, only to break out in smiles and hug him when they saw who it was. 

“Stan the Man!” Richie verged on shouting as he pulled him in “Where ya been dude? We’ve missed you”

“Thanks Rich” he replied “I was just sick” 

“Have you considered getting tested for a weak immune system?” Eddie piped up from behind him “I was never as sick as much as you are, and I was being lied to by a bitch mother” 

Richie stroked Edde’s upper arm when he heard Eddie stumble out the end ot the sentence (just because he’s aware of the lies doesn’t mean he comfortable with them)

“I’m sure he’s fine” Bev laughed “He’s too hygienic for that to even matter” 

They all chuckled, but as he half-heartedly laughed, Bill’s eyes followed Stan’s fingers as they rubbed the knuckles of the opposite hand, which were dry to the point of cracking and bleeding the slightest amount. 

They were all more observant than Stan gave them credit for. They knew there was no way Stan was sick this often, but they just had no idea why he needed to stay out of school so much. They worried about him, but Stan’s mysterious issues were at the back of their mind. 

For Bill, however, he noticed a lot more than the rest of them. He’s heard Stan mumble a count to 100 as he scrubbed his hands under the sink. He’s smelled cigarettes on Stan’s breath the days that he ‘had to meet with a teacher at lunch’. He’s seen the dark bags under Stan’s eyes, and the split second it takes Stan to produce a believable smile on the days when he was especially quiet. 

Bill wasn’t sure what was wrong with his friend, but he knew it was something. He could never bring himself to ask the boy, out of fear of spooking him and driving him away. He never knew why he had such a vested interest in Stan’s happiness, but he knew that when Stan walked through the school’s double doors with a blank look on his face, Bill felt his heart break a little. 

\--------

At lunch that day, Stan and Bev were the first ones at the lunch table. Stan slid into his usual spot, and Bev gave him a hard, calculating look. 

“Care to share?” Stan responded as he raised an eyebrow

“Come out and have a smoke with me” She said as she pulled a pack of cigarettes out of what Stan recognized to be Richie’s jacket “I want to talk” 

“Oh I- I don’t smoke” 

One look was all it took for her to say she didn’t believe him

“Fine. But my lung cancer is on your hands Marsh” 

“I’ll take it”

The two of them walked out the back door of the cafeteria as the rest of the losers entered on the other end. Bev turned her head quickly and made eye contact with Eddie. He raised his eyebrows in question, but she shook her head as to say ‘don’t mention it’. Eddie nodded slowly, but didn’t say anything while everyone sat down and took out their lunches. 

Outside, Bev and Stan collapsed on a bench together, and she lit up two cigarettes, handing one to him. 

“So what’s up with you dude” She asked bluntly “You’re so… sad”

“I’m fine Marsh” He answered tightly “I don’t know what you’re talking about” 

“You can’t bullshit me Uris. I know that look when I see it” 

“I’m fine Bev, really, I can handle myself” 

Bev sighed, exhaling smoke, and waiting for a minute before responding. 

“You know Stan, I’ve seen that look before. Call me paranoid but I know sadness when I see it, and I know you’re sad. I'm not asking you to do anything about it, I’m not even asking you to admit it, just know that you don’t have to hide it around us” 

Stan thought back to the picture on Bev’s desk in her room. A beautiful woman with long red hair was smiling at the camera, hold a little ginger baby. 

“I’m sorry about your mom Bev, but I’m not her” It hurt Stan to say that, but some dark part of his brain told him if he was mean, she might not be so interested in helping. 

Bev looked at him, and he cursed the fact that she was so good at reading him. Instead of getting up and walking away, she laid her head on his shoulder. 

“I know you aren’t her, but we still worry about you Stan, and you aren’t going to stop worrying us until you open up about whatever it is that makes you miss so much school, and act like you’d rather die than be around us” 

With this, Stan stood up quickly, his expression hardening. 

“I’m fine Bev, now leave it the fuck alone. I don’t need a fucking therapist, and more importantly you aren’t one”   
Bev watched his back as he stomped away, sucking down the rest of the cigarette and throwing it on the sidewalk at the exit of the school. She knew he had been gunning for an excuse to leave school, and she supposed that if this was that reason, it’s better he snapped at someone like her, who could understand it wasn’t aimed at her. She stood up, putting out her own cigarette and started back for the lunch table. 

When she sat back down at the lunch table, Bill leaned over to her. 

“Where’s St-stan?” He questioned 

“He bounced. He’s having one of his days, and needed a reason to go home I think” She responded lightly. 

He nodded and didn’t say anything else, but his face betrayed him, and Bev could see how worried he was. She always found it funny that those two though they were being subtle. At least with Richie and Eddie, Eddie was too headstrong and straightforward to allow Richie to pine. The minute Bev hinted at Richie having shown any interest in him, Eddie showed up at Richie’s house with flowers he took from his mother’s garden and kissed him before he could ask what he was doing there at two in the morning. 

\---------------

The six of them all said goodbye at the doors at the end of the day, Eddie and Bev piling into Richie’s car for a ride home, the rest getting on bikes, or in Ben’s case walking. 

Bill got into his truck and sat for a minute, He wanted to go see Stan, but he knew that he should leave him alone. He didn’t want Stan’s anger directed at him, and he knew he should trust Stan to be able to handle himself.

He did, right? 

To distract himself from his worry, Bill went home and did homework. He helped his mom make dinner with Georgie and the family ate. Everytime he found his thoughts drifting towards Stan, he found something to distract himself. It wasn’t until him and Georgie were watching TV at about nine when he could ignore the niggling of worry any longer. He faked checking his texts and yelled to his mom up the stairs. 

“Hey Mom! Eddie needs help with his math homework, so I’m gonna head over! I’ll be back by tonight”   
“Be safe honey! Watch for drunk drivers!” She hollered back. 

Who in the fuck is drunk at nine pm on a Thursday night he thought as he started his truck. Before he knew it, he was pulling up to the Uris household, noticing that Stan’s mom wasn’t home yet. He knew she worked a lot, but it was almost ten for christ’s sake. 

The house was dark when Bill turned the knob. It seemed like Stan had gone straight to his room, not doing so much as to take his shoes off, a rule his mother enforced wholeheartedly. 

Bill walked the path to Stan’s room, noticing the faint smell of smoke permeating the hallway. When he got to Stan’s door, he knocked before turning the knob.

His first reaction was a cough, because it seemed like Stan’s room was suspended in a haze of mixed cigarettes and pot smoke. Bill didn’t know Stan smoked either. 

“What th-the hell d-dude” Bill coughed out to the silent room “Since when do you hotbox” 

“Since I got too lazy to go outside” A disembodied voice seemed to respond. Bill recognized the source to be the lump of blankets on Stan’s bed. 

“You know your mom will kill you when she gets home”

“She’s at a business meeting for the next two days, plenty of time to clear it out, now get the hell out, will you? I think I’m still sick” 

Stan had yet to turn to face Bill. 

“So… what’s this all about then?” Bill asked quietly, closing the door and advancing on the bed. 

“What are you even doing here Bill. You know I don’t fucking want you here”

Bill flinched at the words, but the angerless tone conveyed that he was making an effort to preserve his privacy in this matter. 

“I d-don’t care if you want me here man. We’re w-worried about you. You seem so… down”  
This actually did get Stan to sit up, fixing Bill with a fiery glare. 

“God who are you? Fucking Mother Theresa? I told Bev you guys didn’t have to worry about me, now go home and ignore your fucking hero complex and LEAVE ME ALONE!” 

Stan was panting by the end of his little rant, but promptly slumped down against his headboard. 

Bill slowly walked towards him and sat on the end of the bed. 

“Stan this… th-this isn’t you” He whispered “I don’t know w-whats going on, b-b-but you have to talk about it at s-some point” 

“No I don’t Bill” Stan whispered back “I don’t have to talk about it, because I think if I talked about it I might cry or scream or maybe just die. I’m not totally sure what would happen but I don’t want you to have to see it” 

“Stan, you know w-we love you right? I love you man, and I wouldn’t be sitting here if I wasn’t ready for any of that. We-... I just want you to be okay” 

Stan held his breath as he looked at Bill, before his breathing got erratic and he all but jumped out of bed. 

“I just” he hissed as he started pacing “I can’t fucking do this anymore Bill” 

“Do what” 

“Stand it! I don’t know how you guys get up and do it every day! Its like… It’s like there’s some sort of electricity under my skin everyday. Most days I can deal with it and ignore it, but some days it’s just too much. It’s like if I don’t wash my hands enough or make sure the lights and oven are off or the doors locked, somehow the world will fall apart” 

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about” Bill confessed “But it sounds like it sucks” 

“I don’t know what it is either Bill, but fuck if it doesn’t suck. That’s why I stay home Bill. I know that if I get out of bed it’s going to be a constant barrage of reasons why I should check locks or wash my hands or make myself throw up so that whatever it is that makes me feel so uncomfortable and wrong will just fucking leave me alone-” 

“You make yourself throw up?” Bill interrupted, but Stan ignored him

“- and it’s like the innate wrong-ness that accompanies this ties me to my bed. I spend so much energy just trying to feel right again that talking to anyone feels like a herculean obstacle. I don’t want to make you guys sad so I try to act okay but on the inside it’s like there something clawing through my stomach. I’m torn between lying in bed and shriveling in a constant cycle of checking and washing and vomiting until I finally feel empty. The pot relaxes me enough to just listen to music and be sad. It’s not ideal but it’s better than the burning feeling in my stomach that tells me that if I stop trying to placate it it’ll kill me” 

Stan stopped pacing for a minute and looked at Bill finally. Bill gazed back and realized that there were tear streaming down Stan’s face. 

“Jesus Christ St-stan. I’m sorry man” 

“I-I didn’t mean to unload on you Bill. I just got so fed up with you all treating me like I’m glass and not really understanding. Not that like you have understand or anyth-”

“I get it” Bill cut him off “I mean, I don’t totally get it, but I think I’m starting to get an idea” 

Bill felt around Stan’s bed sheets until he found the pack of cigarettes, and lit one up in his mouth. He only inhaled once before Stan stole the cigarette out of his mouth and took a drag. His hands were shaking and he was still crying silently, but at least his breathing had calmed down. He gingerly sat down on the bed next to Bill, their thighs touching. Bill gave him a meaningful sideways glance. 

“You know you’re going to have to talk to someone about this. I’m a good start, but this sounds like something you’re gonna have to tell your Mom about at some point” 

“I don’t want to tell my fucking mom”

“Then tell the school or something. This sounds like something you’ll need professional help with” 

Stan huffed quietly

“You just can’t leave this alone, can you Denbrough” Stan smiled slightly 

“You know I can’t” Bill replied somberly “Besides, something tells me you don’t want me to leave it alone. I can’t fix you Stan, but I can make it so you don’t have to be so goddam lonely” 

“I-... Thanks for coming Bill” 

“I’ll always be there when you need me Uris, don’t worry about it” 

Bill intertwined his fingers with Stans 

“We’ll fix this Stan, mark my words, I’ll make sure of it” 

Stan didn’t believe him, but Bill didn’t need him to. At the moment, making sure the blonde boy got ‘okay’ again was his life’s mission. Tomorrow the two would start looking at therapists in the town. When that didn’t work, Bill would be there to visit Stan in the mental facility he spent a whole month in. Bill would help him keep track of medications and relapses and good days and bad ones alike. 

Tonight, however, it was enough to let Stan rest his head on his shoulder. Bill squeezed his hand and they both stared at the spot on the opposite wall where Richie had dented the wall with a baseball a few years prior. 

Tonight it was enough to just be there.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all, hope you enjoyed! I low-key really like this ship and I think it's a cute dynamic.   
> Toodles!  
> V


End file.
